


Long Way Home

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At one point, Abby had to learn, right? Vignette to "Truth or Consequences", written for LFWS over on LJ. The prompt given for this round was "missing scene".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Way Home

He doesn't want to make the call. The mere thought of picking up his phone and dialing the number makes his hackles rise, and he hates the feeling with a frightening intensity he hasn't experienced in a really long... well, three months, actually. 

But he owes her. He promised her, back when he still believed he wouldn't have a chance to keep his word anyway, and her messages keep piling up on his phone now and lend it the weight of a small mountain range.

It's just that he sucks on the phone. He's so much better in person, when he can smile and waggle his eyebrows and charm his way out of the situations he's not ready to face yet, and if he could just sit this one out, wait until they are back in the Yard... He'd stroll into the lab then with a swagger in his step and a waggle to his eyebrows, and he'd smile at her and say "You'll never guess!"

But he can't swagger over the phone, he can only tell her the truth, and he finds that he just isn't ready for that yet. Which is kinda ironic, since he's still high on truth serum.

He blinks, slowly, and he tries to swallow past the lump that keeps choking him. He blames it on his tongue, which still feels all swollen and strangely floppy in his mouth. He knows this time he's lying to himself, but at least that still works. Mostly.

His phone hums angrily in his pocket with yet another text message received. This time he brings up enough energy to pull it out and flip it open.

_Are you safe?_ The same three words, over and over, repeated in two dozen messages. One sent every hour. 

For a split second he envies Gibbs and McGee, who were wise enough not to bring theirs along. Then he sighs and speed-dials Abby's number.

"We're safe," he confirms, and he can hear her breath catch at the sound of his strained, tired voice. It's a small wonder she even understood his words, with the wind whipping his face and the roar of the jeep and all that.

At least he thinks she understood. 

She's silent for such a long time that it starts to make his skin crawl and sends goose bumps up his arms. But he knows what kind of emotion she is wrestling with right now, and he keeps thinking that this is what's in store for him, too, if he'd just stop for a moment and turn around to face what's been haunting him. 

But he finds that he can't turn yet, not even to look at McGee beside him. McGee, who keeps shooting him glances that want to imply he suddenly understands a lot more about his partner than he usually lets on. 

And he certainly can't turn far enough to see the other jeep racing them. The one with Gibbs and--

"So you're all coming home?" she asks, just when the gap in talk begins to grind on his nerves and rubs his skin raw.

And then he breathes in deeply. "One more," he says, because she asked him, and he really can't help but tell the truth. Only this time it's not the chemicals to blame.

The silence gets thick again and oppressing, and it takes a few more heartbeats until she begins to process this new piece of information. Then, one word, slightly confused and curious: "Who?"

And there's the lump again, the one that insists on blocking his throat and his heart, the one that hurts like razorblades while he keeps trying to swallow around it.

"Ziva's alive."

The second jeep suddenly roars behind them as the wheels lose traction for a moment. He blinks and concentrates on staring straight ahead while he presses the phone to his ear and waits for words that never come. 

Then he hears the first soft sob, barely audible against the noise drowning him. His fingers clench around the phone, and he doesn't notice it at first, only when his muscles start to twitch in nervous cramps.

It shakes him more than it should, really. But Abby's actually crying now, hard, not just sniffling a bit with relief, and he certainly didn't expect that. He should have, maybe, because it's Abby after all. But he didn't.

Suddenly he's no longer sure if calling her was the right thing to do. He's still him, and him can't deal with this too well, never could. 

He has to, now, because he promised her. Still, he briefly wonders if hanging up on her is an option. (Isn't, of course. Because he made a promise, and this time he has to keep it.)

He taps his left index finger to his knee in a rapid rhythm that matches the drumming in his temples, and he is nervous and distracted and confused now. Her reaction tangles up his emotions pretty good, and it leaves him shaky and ready to run. 

She's always kept herself under such tight control before, trying to stay functional at all costs, even while her teammates were dying around her.

But then he thinks, maybe that's just it. Maybe she's so used to death by now that she has no experience with rebirth.

He takes slow, carefully controlled breaths and tries to loosen his grip on the phone without much success. His throat constricts, maybe from the sand, maybe from truth, and while he keeps listening patiently to Abby, wordlessly sharing her pain and fright and anxiety on the other end of the line, he waits. Waits for his own throat to untighten and his heart to unclench. And for a release that doesn't want to come for him yet.


End file.
